The Konoha Blend
by sharingank
Summary: He didn't expect her to be the one to bring him his morning brew...GaaraSakura.
1. Chapter 1

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**The Konoha Blend**

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When he put in the request for a pot or two of coffee--somewhere along the line, he had developed an intense attachment to the alarmingly addictive legal drug, probably because the caffiene rush kept him awake and alert long enough to slog through piles of tedious paperwork and reports--he figured either his brother or sister would bring it over, and that would be that. 

Naturally, his assumption was dead wrong.

Long before she entered the room, Gaara knew who would come breezing through the door. Though his senses were not as acute as, say, the Inuzuka clan's, he was still rather receptive to scents, and he could determine an individual's identity without seeing them by listening closely to their footfalls. The difference between one person and another might be very slight, but everyone walked in a way unique only to them, and he had learned how to notice subtleties. As a Kage, such a skill was almost a requirement.

For instance, he knew his approaching visitor always took long, graceful strides, particularly now that she had come into her own, accepted the limiations of her body and worked around them, utilized her strengths and fortified her weaknesses. She put her entire foot down before pushing off from the ground again, the heels of her boots giving an audible 'click' as she sauntered toward his office, her pace light and easy. She was confident, secure, sure of herself...although doubt lingered there, too. Fear that she would fail, that she would disappoint those who depended on her. Reasonable, considering her chosen profession as a medic. Anything could happen at any time; a treatment could backfire, a healing patient could take a turn for the worse...

While his job was nothing near a walk in the park, Gaara would rather face the constant swarm of busybodies and diplomats who demanded every second of his time than the chaos and uncertainty that thrived in a hospital.

But the thing that thoroughly captured his attention was not her gait.

He heard the inevitable knock on the door, and the hinges creaked as it swung open without invitation. Haruno Sakura, temporary trainer of the Suna med unit, flashed him a blinding smile that showed the top row of perfect white teeth. She held a coffee pot in one hand and his favorite oversized mug--a gift she herself had given him for his birthday a week ago--dangled by the handle where it was looped around the pointer finger of the opposite.

"Good morning, Kazekage-sama," she greeted brightly, and followed up with a mischievous inclination of the head, laughter in her large, emerald eyes. "You look surprisingly well, considering how ass-early it is." Nudging the door shut with an elbow, she came forward to set the coffee and mug on his desk, and then settled herself in an armchair across from him, one long, porcelain leg crossed at the knee over the other. "Though I suppose you've had a lot of practice in that area."

It was her scent.

She smelled like...berries. Strawberry, specifically, and it drove him mad.

Gaara never used to have any interest in food, let alone strawberries. He ate whatever was placed in front of him. It was methodical. He couldn't taste much, anyway, not when the desire for blood overwhelmed him.

But then _she_ entered his life, her and her damned scent that followed him around _everywhere_, and he suddenly developed a _need_ more powerful than the bloodlust to have strawberries.

Sakura didn't realize how dangerous she was...or how much danger she had brought upon herself. She should have declined when asked to leave her homeland for three months to instruct a ragtag group of ninjas not esteemed for their prowess in the art of medicine, but her healer's instict spoke louder than the voice of reason.

Truthfully, Gaara could not deny that they needed her, and that out of anyone he could have chosen, she was the most competent. Not even a month there, and he was already noticing improvement. Her students respected her, and she in turn held nothing back from them, knowing that through her, lives would be saved. His siblings both seemed fond of the pink-haired kunoichi, Temari treating her like another sister and Kankuro engaging her in shrewd banter that sometimes lasted for hours--Sakura, it would seem, enjoyed to talk as much as he.

And Gaara...

The fact that he was a threat to her was the only thing that had not changed in all the years since their first fateful encounter when he meant to kill her...with the exception of one small variable.

He didn't want her to die any longer.

"And for it being so "ass-early," you're too cheerful," he retorted in a curt voice, reaching for the coffee. It smelled...unusual. Not quite hazlenut, but not quite vanilla either. Interesting.

Her cheeks dimpled. "Grouch," she murmured, tapping blunt-tipped nails against the oak armrests of the chair. "I deviated from my schedule to play maid for you, and this is the thanks I get."

"You chose to do that on your own. I didn't ask you to." Gaara brought the cup to his mouth and took a sip. "What _is _this?" His expression bordered on mystified.

Sakura suppressed a giggle, though just barely. "Why? Is it bad?"

"No." He blinked, and took another sip. "It's...very good, actually."

The kunoichi beamed. "So you like it?"

"I thought that's what I said."

"Yes, but I wanted to make sure," Sakura explained solemnly, though her eyes betrayed any sense of seriousness. "You're notorious for being impossibly vague, Kazekage-sama."

"Oh, stop that," Gaara muttered tersely, troubled by this closeness, this…_familiarity_. He was becoming comfortable around her, too comfortable. His mind practically screamed not to encourage this, but... "You _know_ my name." He looked at her, not failing to note that she seemed somewhat taken aback, yet her recovery was quick.

"I do know your name." She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, returning his stare. "But I was unaware I had the _privilege_ to use it...Gaara." Chin propped on her palm, she showed him her teeth again, and he had to remind himself that breathing was necessary if he wanted to remain conscious.

From her lips, he liked the way his name sounded more than he should have, far more than he anticipated.

The situation was not dangerous. It was _dire_. The ice on which he treaded was cracked, each step triggering another splinter, another harbinger of the fall...he'd be drawn under if he weren't careful, cautious, _vigilant_...

She was speaking, and he'd missed about half of what she said while he was caught up in contemplation.

"...I'm glad you like it, though. It's a brew I put together myself while I was on duty one night. Guaranteed to keep you buzzed for at least eight hours." Sakura winked. "I call it the 'Konoha Blend.'" She stretched out her hand in an imploring gesture, and Gaara, hesitating at first, gave her his mug.

Eyes locked with his, she took a long draught, happily sighing, "Perfect," before sliding the cup back to him.

Bewildered, Gaara looked from her to the mug, and saw the tiny pink ring her lip gloss had left behind on the rim.

For some reason, that little ring was so erotic it was physically _painful_.

_Must be a result of that hormone crap I missed out on…_He mused, near hysterics. He might have laughed if he were anyone other than the Kazekage...or anyone other than _Gaara_, for that matter. It was bad enough his body chose now of all times to reassure him he was indeed male, and the streaks of irrationality that he only experienced when in her prescence were none other than symptoms of full-blown, irreversible _attraction_.

He wanted her. There was no refuting it. Turn it inside out, paint it different colors, it was what it was.

Strawberries wouldn't be his favorite fruit if he hadn't met her.

If she were merely a distant, aloof recollection, the pink ring on his mug would've repulsed him.

And now he'd have to find a way to discreetly requisition a lifetime supply of 'Konoha Blend,' because the old Columbian just wouldn't cut it anymore.

"Are you finished distracting me from my work?" Gaara demanded in what he hoped was annoyance, motioning about his desk at the stacks of reports he had yet to tackle. "I wake up at this hour for a reason, regardless of the general opinion where my sanity is concerned."

Briefly, Sakura's eyes narrowed as though she were about to argue, but the moment passed. Whether or not intuition had clued her in on his secret was a mystery, however Gaara had a sinking suspicion the neutral facade would not last.

For the final time that morning, Sakura treated him to a smile.

"Of course you do," she agreed amiably, and extracted herself from the chair. "I never doubted it."

Gaara watched her as she walked away, mind racing. When she was almost at the door, she glanced over her shoulder and added, "Enjoy the coffee."

Only after he could no longer hear the echo of her soft chuckles in the hall did he allow himself to laugh, partly out of sheer panic, and partly out of amusement. Raising the mug, he found the spot where her lips had touched and drank.

Her lip gloss tasted like strawberries.

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Holy monkeys, I have done it. I have written a Gaara/Sakura. Gasp? XD Oh LJ, the things you make me do...(I originally had this posted on my journal for my buddy _yoko chan, _who requested the keyword "coffee." Hee. Hee. Hee. XD) Hope you guys liked! 


	2. A Prelude

So, since Gaara's birthday was the 19th, I decided I'd write something to celebrate, and it just so happened to fit quite nicely with the events in this story, and I figured I'd make this a prequel of sorts. Hope you enjoy!

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**A Prelude**

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"Kankuro, what in all _hell _are you doing?"

"Whaddaya mean, what am I doing?" He gave his sister an arch look, cheek smeared with something Temari assumed was batter. "I thought _we_ were making a birthday cake, here, but all _you've_ done so far is pace back and forth with the damn recipe book and nag at me about getting the directions wrong."

His sister's eyes narrowed. "Wait a—"

"_Maybe_," Kankuro's voice overpowered hers, "if you put the book on the _counter_ so I can _see_ what I'm supposed to do, we won't have a problem anymore."

There is a reason why siblings—these siblings in particular—should never be encouraged to partake in the joys of teamwork of their own volition, because the probability for excess name-calling, personal insults, and bodily harm increases tenfold. Temari and Kankuro operated much more efficiently when they were demanded to cooperate; at least that way, the threat of dire consequences applied to both indiscriminately, and they had no choice but to set aside their differences and get the job done.

Perhaps the root of the problem lie with the fact that they each took a perverse joy in taunting one another, and did so as often as opportunity arose. On the outside, it may have appeared as though their relationship was strained, however the contrariness was just their way of expressing love.

The term "touchy-feely" didn't exist in the family vocabulary.

Straight out of a scene from an old western movie, the blonde kunoichi paused mid step—she'd been making another trek across the kitchen—and stared hard at her brother, the aura of her chakra nearly visible.

"Put it on the counter, huh?" She grated between clenched teeth.

Kankuro stared back impassively. "Right. Or, better yet, why don't you postmark it to flippin' Konoha, for all the good it's doing here. That airhead Naruto can dictate the instructions over the phone, and we _may_ have a cake when the next ice age rolls around, if we're lucky."

As if she were a fish flung from its tank, Temari opened and closed her mouth, speechless until her countenance changed.

"Ah," she said calmly, and slammed the book so hard on the counter that the dishes in the cupboards rattled, and an egg Kankuro had set near the edge for a moment toppled off.

Unfortunately, when eggs fall, they do not simply bounce a few times and roll like a marble. They _splatter_.

And boy, did it splatter.

Since he hadn't been wearing shoes, Kankuro felt slimy, raw whites trickle between his toes, and he was reminded of the time he stepped on a slug as a kid.

Slugs burst.

He shuddered.

"Oh, that was real slick, psycho." Features screwed up in a grimace, he lifted his foot as high off the ground as he could. The white was already becoming sticky, and he wanted it _off_.

Temari blinked, somewhat astounded at the supreme mess a single egg can create. She hadn't anticipated her endeavor would yield such a dramatic outcome, to be honest. It seemed like a good idea then.

But rage makes _everything_ seem like a good idea.

"Well if you hadn't provoked me—" she interrupted herself when she noticed her brother had his foot in the sink. "Kankuro! That's gross!"

"Whatever. You put dirty dishes in the sink," he retorted absently, squeezing a blob of antibacterial soap onto his skin.

"It's not the same concept." Temari's reply was exasperated. "Lord knows what kind of nasty germs cling to the bottoms of your feet…"

She heard the sound of the tap running.

"For cripes sake, woman," the puppet master muttered as he scrubbed. "You think your _mouth_ is any better? There are major diseases that can be spread by _breathing_ on someone—"

"Okay, okay, point taken."

Once her brother started, it was well nigh impossible to get him to stop, and, fascinating a subject as STDs were—she knew without a doubt he'd branch off in that direction—she wasn't in the mood to hear about them while they were baking.

"Fabulous."

Temari's fingers twitched, so she balled them into fists. If she beat the snot out of him now, they'd never finish the cake, and she was determined Gaara have a cake on his birthday.

"Why? I don't even _like _cake," he said when she proposed the idea, clearly unenthusiastic about the whole thing.

But he did like cake. It was the hoo-ha accompanying it that he didn't like.

Temari ignored his preferences, naturally, and insisted his birthday was going to be a _normal _affair, with all niceties observed.

Gaara decided he would sleep in on the morning of January 19. Now that he actually _could _sleep, he discovered he was quite good at it.

The only downside was that being woken up evoked his temper, which meant he was usually grouchy the rest of the day.

Let them suffer his wrath if they dared.

"What on _earth _did you do now, idiot?"

Temari and Kankuro both looked around and saw Sakura standing in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over her chest. There was amusement in her eyes, and her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. "Couldn't make it to the bathroom?"

"Stuff it, Princess," Kankuro said, rinsing the last of the soap from his—eggless—foot. "Blame the nutcase over there." He gestured at his sister. "She needs anger management in the worst way."

"Do you want me to get my fan? I'll go get my fan, so help me."

The medic raised her brows. She noticed the egg on the floor when she came in, but she no longer had to ask what happened.

Though she'd only been a resident at the Kazekage's estate for a few weeks, Sakura, always observant, believed she understood the dynamics of the family well enough to read between the lines.

For all their quirks, she had come to appreciate these people more than she ever thought she would. Sure, she fully supported the cause that brought her here, but it was the Kazekage and his siblings who cemented the deal, reasserted the passion for her job, made her feel as though she were accomplishing something.

She grinned. "So the cake was a bust?"

"What cake?"

Temari appeared mutinous. "Kankuro…"

The red flag was out, waving in the gale.

"I'll help," Sakura intervened. "I've been told I'm a pretty decent baker."

And when she kicked Kankuro in the shins a second later, she explained sweetly after he protested that her vision had gotten sharp due to the nature of her training.

It was improper to stick one's tongue out at one's sister, after all.

* * *

"Shuddup…go 'way…"

_Beep, beep, beep._

"I _said_, shuddup…bas'rd…"

_Beep, beep, beep._

"ARGH!"

Sabaku no Gaara, esteemed Kazekage of Sunagakure and Sex God Extraordinaire—deemed by his legions of female fans—flung his arm out aimlessly and mashed the button on his alarm clock twice, which probably wasn't necessary, but he didn't care. Piece of trash deserved rough treatment.

Screeching like that so damned _early_…

His eyes shot open.

Ten o'clock.

_Ten o'clock_.

"One of them must've done it," he croaked, voice hoarse from sleep. "That alarm wasn't set when I went to bed."

Damn _meddlesome_ ingrates.

Gaara rolled over on his back to stare moodily at the ceiling. Birthdays. Bah. So he was a year older. Big deal. He didn't _feel _any different, wasn't on the verge of some major _epiphany _that would change him forever from this point forward. He'd already danced that dance, right? Dying _had_ to count.

"Oh no, of course not," he grumbled petulantly, flinging his red silk sheets to the side. "God forbid I don't want to make a fuss about some stupid—" he untangled one leg— "worthless—" and the other— "event."

Though the day of his birth wasn't exactly _worthless_, as the many individuals whose lives he'd touched, either positively or negatively, could attest.

Motor skills slightly impaired, Gaara slithered out of bed and almost fell flat on his face when he went to take a step. Cursing like a slattern, he steadied himself on the bedpost.

Wonderful start, indeed.

He knew it was juvenile, but he couldn't resist saying, "World, you suck."

Yes, yes, and it would continue to do so, too, thanks very much.

Whiner.

"Yeah? I'm allowed." The redhead—or, more appropriately, _bed head_—stuck his nose in the air. "I'm _Kazekage_, damn it. I've got a pointy _hat_, ha!"

It was strange, not having that other awareness around to answer him. Shukaku had always been very vocal. Nary a minute went by without him spouting a wisecrack here, a complaint there.

The worst were his blatant demands for blood. Selfish and self-serving, the tanuki was ruthless toward his vessel when he wanted it, filling Gaara's head with malice and hunger and _needles_, sharp, deadly, destructive.

And while he didn't miss that, the silence now was still odd.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he flicked on the lights—that blinded him temporarily—and peered at his reflection in the mirror.

Puffy, half-lidded eyes. Stubble—must be shaved. Hair…_atrocious_.

"Oy. Hello, junkie."

He sighed.

Eighteen. Eighteen years.

He sighed again, though this one contained a hint of desperation.

Going downstairs meant attention, coddling, well-wishes. Going downstairs meant _embarrassment_, and that was why he resisted it.

Going downstairs meant an exchange, a glance, a touch…

What possessed him to ask her to stay here? What naive whim had convinced him everything would be fine, go ahead and do it, she's just a medic, just a girl, just a fiery personality that'll consume you like an inferno and only leave smoke and ashes behind as a memento…

He allowed his forehead to fall against the glass with a thump.

"I don't need this," he groused. "Don't _want _it, either."

But if he knew anything, he knew you couldn't always get what you wanted. Who tells the heart when to love and when to hate? To conquer an emotion, you have to first admit it exists, and that is the dangerous part. Admittance brings the thing you've avoided into the open, forces you to see it for what it is, and by then it might be too late to bury it.

Gaara was inexperienced where love was concerned. Until very recently, he wasn't able to distinguish between the many facets because he didn't understand them. Love for your family was not the same as love for your friends, and love for your friends didn't equate to love for…for _someone_, the person who dominated your thoughts, your fears, your dreams…

Time had taught him the difference. Time. Choices. Repercussions.

And a medic from Konoha named Haruno Sakura.

Ironic. Eighteen years without her, and she was so twined up in his life that to cut her off was suicide. Like amputating a limb and watching the blood pool on the pavement.

The Kazekage closed his eyes.

She was _everywhere_, and he had no explanation for it. None.

Except for one.

"Shower," Gaara said promptly.

It was his birthday. May as well milk it for all it was worth, even if he didn't much care for the concept.

One should not have to think on one's birthday, especially about girls.

* * *

"Smells divine, doesn't it?" Sakura's expression was blissful as she inhaled the aroma. She loved chocolate almost as much as she adored strawberry. Almost.

"Be careful, Princess, or you'll get frosting on your nose," Kankuro chided.

Temari made a smug noise. "Aren't you glad I suggested we do this?" She said, poking her brother in the side, where he was incredibly ticklish.

"Woah!"

Sakura snickered. "Can I leave you two alone for a second?"

"Where are you going?" Kankuro wondered as he tried to fend off more attacks from his sister—and failed.

"To find the birthday boy."

"Good luck with that," Temari smirked. "I switched his alarm on while he was asleep, so he's probably in a _pleasant _mood—AUGH!"

Kankuro had struck back.

Shaking her head, Sakura wandered out of the kitchen and down the hall a ways, mentally ticking off possibilities. She doubted he was in his room, because listlessness bothered him, and, in his words, "bedrooms encourage that sort of thing." She knew he didn't have any meetings today, since his siblings went under his nose and cancelled them, so he wouldn't be in the council hall…there was a chance he could've holed up in the library, though she doubted that, too…

Logic pointed to the study, and Sakura was a logical person.

So she went to the study.

The door was cracked, and light filtered through the gap.

Slowly, she eased it the rest of the way open, poked her face in, and had to check herself fast, or she would've blown her cover.

The Kazekage sat behind his desk with his headphones on, chin resting in his palm as his free hand used a pen to tap out a rhythm on the desk's surface. He seemed to be staring blankly at a random point in the distance, and he had yet to realize she was there.

Sakura bit her lip.

He was singing.

"Sweet home Alabama, na na na na nuh na. Where the skies are soooo bluwaugh—" Gaara finally perceived his audience.

The pen dropped, and he flushed.

"How long have you been there?" His tone was harsh from humiliation, and he yanked the headphones off.

"Not very," Sakura replied, on the verge of laughter. She coughed once. "Er…Happy Birthday."

He developed a twitch in his right eye. "What's so happy about it?"

"It's just an axiom. You say it to people on their birthdays."

The twitching continued. "I see."

Sakura released her breath in a whistle. "Um…we made you a cake."

"Mm-hm." _She heard me sing…oh dear lord, she heard me _sing_…_

"Because it's your birthday."

"I never would've guessed." _This is bad. Bad, bad, bad…now she knows I'm tone-deaf…_

The medic appeared as though she wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. _I'd smack him if he weren't a Kage…_

"You're obligated to eat it, _Kazekage-sama_," she said, voice clipped. "So come along." With that, she spun on her heel and strode out, aware that her conduct teetered on insubordinate.

"Spoiled brat," she muttered.

Gaara blinked.

Did she say, "come along?" to _him_?

The other eye twitched.

"Obligated. I'm not obligated. It's _my _birthday!"

But he stood anyway.

"There'd better be coffee ready."

Women were so _difficult_.

* * *

A tense hush hung in the air, so tense it was almost suffocating. Three pairs of eyes were focused on him, and the _thing _he'd placed on the dining room table, next to a stack of dirty plates and the quarter of the cake that remained.

"What _is _it?"

Kankuro and Sakura exchanged glances, and Temari exhaled impatiently. "It's one of those birds that you set near a cup of water and then give the head a tap, you know?" She grabbed Kankuro's glass and plunked it in front of them to demonstrate. "Look."

She tapped it, and the bird's head began to bob like a seesaw, the beak touching water each time it went down.

Sakura giggled. "How cute!"

Kankuro snorted. "Absolutely adorable. It suits you, little bro."

Gaara gave him a _look_. "Bite me." He then turned to his sister. "Were you high or something when you bought this? I mean…what am I supposed to do with it?"

"I don't know. Put it on your desk."

"And distract myself. Great."

"Shut up. Your office is so boring. It needs personality."

"_Whose_ personality is this, exactly?" Gaara poked the bird, which bobbed energetically. "Maybe if I was a seventy-year-old eccentric—"

"Here," Sakura interrupted, shoving a small gift-wrapped box at him. "Mine next."

He stared at it, a strange fluttering sensation in his chest that he instantaneously quashed.

_So she got me a present. Doesn't mean anything…_

"Well?"

He started.

"Oh. Sorry." _Smooth, dumb ass. _

Tearing off the paper—red—he lifted the flap of the box.

Gaara's mouth quirked.

She had gotten him a coffee mug.

"Nice one, Princess," Kankuro complimented, ruffling her hair.

Temari reached for her camera. "Picture!"

The Kazekage frowned. "I don't—"

"Just smile, Gaara-sama," Sakura told him, and flashed a smile of her own.

So he smiled.

And whenever he was offered coffee afterward, he wouldn't accept unless he had his mug.

* * *

_Sweet Home Alabama_ belongs to Lynard Skynard, of course. XD 


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